Thou Dost Eclipse Every Delight
by Javidan
Summary: Esme indulges in a brief glimpse at Carlisle's journal and discovers a piece of his past. Written for Silly Bella's Twilight Challenges Forum --- Eowyn77's "President's Day Challenge"


_**Thou Dost Eclipse Every Delight**_

Esme was bored. She had finished her latest project earlier in the week, the design of a gazebo in the rear yard. The actual construction would have to wait for drier weather conditions later in the spring but Emmett had assured her it would be a quick job. At the moment she was occupying herself with a mindless domestic chore that never seemed to go away; dusting.

She was working in Carlisle's office, carefully removing, wiping, and replacing the myriad of books on the walnut bookshelves. Her husband had apparently been looking through things since there was a scattering of papers and antique books on the desk. He had accumulated quite a collection in all his years. Some of the more precious manuscripts were normally stored in the temperature and humidity controlled vault room in the basement but here were several volumes that she did not recognize.

They were obviously old, the leather bindings covered with that tell-tale sheen of age. She wondered what he had pulled those out for. Her human sense of curiosity had not faded as she tentatively lifted the cover of the book on the top of the stack and began to read what was apparently a journal.

_

* * *

__March 1821_

Aro assures me that my efforts are mostly wasted on recording the events of mere mortal humans but I disagree. I have decided to record those lives that have touched mine so that I may feel closer to the humanity I myself have lost and yet continue to serve.

I have, sadly, just heard of the death of a remarkable human who, despite his short life, left quite an impression on me. He passed on February 23rd in Rome at the tender age of twenty-five.

I first met him in February of 1816, at Guy's Hospital in Southwark. I was studying the finer points of surgical intervention and he was assigned the role of "dresser", or surgical intern. His heart, however, did not seem attuned to this occupation and in many long, dark evenings we discussed much about why that was.

He shared his life's story with me which was quite troubled by human standards. His father had been lost in an unfortunate accident when he was but eight and his mother had left the family shortly thereafter. He and his siblings had been raised by his maternal grandparents. He related that he grew into a rebellious youth during this time with much energy spent fighting his schoolmates. I still saw some of these passions in him as we spoke of what he had gone through. When he was fourteen his mother suddenly reappeared but was dying of tuberculosis. He nobly left all young notions aside and nursed his mother in her final weeks of life. It must have been agonizing to watch her slowly fade while he stood by powerless to save her. It was upon her death that he first felt it appropriate to pursue the study of medicine.

His grandmother enlisted a guardian to help raise him at this point and he did choose medicine. He was soon apprenticed with a local doctor who within a few years brought him to Guy's Hospital. It was there that he and I discussed many things other than medicine and I was truly impressed by the soul of this young man. He seemed driven, not by excelling in the medical occupation that I had chosen, but in poetry. I found it humorous at the time that he believed that poetry was "the only thing worthy the attention of superior minds". Since I have followed his brief life, however, I do understand that he was correct in a way. Everyone has their strengths and dreams and it is foolhardy not to pursue them. It brought to mind my prior human life where I was destined to follow my father's profession. I would have proved a poor example since my heart and soul were not in it.

My dear friend quickly came to the conclusion that medicine was not for him and he left to pursue his vision. He stayed in touch with me over these brief years and often sent me examples of his poetry. He must have had some premonition of how short his time was since he penned this poem:

_When I have fears that I may cease to be _

_Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,_

_Before high piled books, in charactry,_

_Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain;_

_When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,_

_Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,_

_And think that I may never live to trace_

_Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;_

_And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!_

_That I shall never look upon thee more,_

_Never have relish in the faery power_

_Of unreflecting love; ---then on the shore_

_Of the wide world I stand alone, and think_

_Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink._

* * *

Esme heard the sound of a car intruding on her reading. That would be Carlisle returning from his shift at the hospital. She quickly closed the volume in front of her and stared at the desk. She glanced guiltily around the room; everything was how it was when she came in. 

There had been so much that Carlisle had shared with her over the years; hours and hours of tender conversations. This volume brought back the truth that his history was so much longer than hers. She hoped that during the eternity that stretched before them there would be time for all of it to be shared. She must be patient.

* * *

On Valentine's Day morning Esme found a card on her desk that she eagerly opened… 

**My Dearest Esme,**

**I am not as eloquent as I would like to be on a day like today so I am borrowing some lines from an old friend of mine. I hope you can forgive me for using his words but he had expressed my future love for you so well.**

**Carlisle**

_Time's sea hath been vast years at its slow ebb,  
Long hours have to and fro let creep the sand,  
Since I was tangled in thy beauty's web,  
And snared by the ungloving of thine hand.  
And yet I never look on midnight sky,  
But I behold thine eyes' well memory'd light;  
I cannot look upon the rose's dye,  
But to thy cheek my soul doth take its flight.  
I cannot look on any budding flower,  
But my fond ear, in fancy at thy lips  
And hearkening for a love-sound, doth devour  
Its sweets in the wrong sense: - Thou dost eclipse  
Every delight with sweet remembering,  
And no grief unto my darling joys dost bring._

_**John Keats**_

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_**Author's Note: **_

I consulted "Poems of Byron, Keats and Shelley" edited by Elliott Coleman for historical information. The two poems quoted are: "_Sonnet: When I Have Fears…"_ and _"Sonnet to a lady seen for a few moments at Vauxhall"_ (two minor edits were made to this poem so it would fit Carlisle's intentions to Esme). Please excuse any mistakes I've made on my research, they were not intentional! 

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the authors. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended. Thank you to the wonderful Stephenie Meyer and her characters --- we love to play with them!

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